Chapter 2-2
856 Words
Teague asked the same question of the detective once they were seated in one of the interrogation rooms Friday morning. They were using it because it was the only private place available at the moment.
“How much will I tell you about the cases? That’s debatable. Why should I reveal anything?”
“Good question,” Teague replied with a small smile. “First off, I knew Chris Frye before his death. We were good friends and I feel somewhat responsible for what happened to him.”
“How so?”
Teague explained and when he finished Slater said, “From the sound of it, he would have left town even if his aunt hadn’t found out about him. Sure, maybe you were complicit in that but I doubt you could have changed his mind.”
“I know I couldn’t have,” Teague told him dryly. “I tried hard enough, though.”
“So you said.” Slater leaned back, studying him. “If I tell you what we know, what do you plan on doing with the information?”
“Honest answer? Compare it with whatever I can get the detective in Faircrest to tell me about his case, and go from there.”
“Don’t you think I’ve already done that,” Slater said with some asperity.
“I’m sure you have, but sometimes it takes a fresh set of eyes to see how things might mesh. From what you told me when we talked two years ago you were living and breathing the cases even though you knew they were cold. I suspect you still are or you wouldn’t have agreed to talk with me.”
Slater shrugged. “When I get time I do go over everything again, looking for something, anything, we might have missed. I’ve re-interviewed anyone who knew the two boys—the ones we were originally able to ID—in the time span before their murders. The problem is, after nearly thirty years…” He spread his hands.
“Yeah. If they did know something back then, they’ve undoubtedly forgotten it by now. Things like who each of the boys ran with.”
“From what I do know about them,” Slater replied, “they were both gay, they were runaways, and they hustled to stay alive.”
Teague sighed. “That undoubtedly fits Chris, too. The hustling part. Though how he ended up here…”
“A question I for one don’t know the answer to. Possibly he hitchhiked and got dropped off here. That’s how one of the other boys ended up in Wellsburg.”
“What about the third boy?”
“From what little we could find out, he just showed up one day in Laport. That’s about five miles west of here. Wellsburg’s twelve miles to the north.”
Teague nodded. “So the killer could have been living in the area.”
“That was what the detectives thought back when the killings happened, but whoever he is, he knew enough not to leave us any clues.”
“And now he might be back at it again.”
“I told you, there are differences in the MO between our murders and the one in Faircrest.”
“A copycat then?”
“Always a possibility. What was done to that boy matched the info that was made public. The sodomizing, the way he was tied up, the fact that he was gagged, although in his case the gag was an old rag not…” Slater shook his head.
Teague chuckled. “Almost let something out there? Now if I was going to guess what, I’d say…the victim’s underwear, or socks.”
“Good guesses, but I’m not going to confirm either one.”
“Why not? It’s not as if I’m going to run to the newspaper with it. Or with anything else you tell me. I’m smarter than that and I have a vested interest in finding the killer—if it is the same man.”
“He’d be in his early to late fifties by now, at least,” Slater said. “A bit old to be able to kidnap a teen. Even one who’s not in the best of shape from living on the street.”
“I agree. The chances are it is a copycat. Are there any similarities between the newest murder and the others that weren’t let out in news reports?”
Slater looked as if he didn’t want to answer, leading Teague to believe there were. Finally Slater nodded, adding, “But I’m not going to tell you what.”
“Something to do with the objects used?”
“Since the coroner couldn’t determine what those were with any certainty—no.”
“With how they were strangled? I know a good ME can tell if the person doing it was right or left-handed.”
“Not even that because…”
“Leap of logic maybe,” Teague said. “They were hanged?”
“Yes and no.”
“You’re going to make me drag this out of you word by word, aren’t you?”
“Not really, because I have no intention of telling you any more than I have.”
“Damn it!”
“Look, Mr. Donovan, you may be a very good private detective. In fact, from what I’ve found out about you, you’re an excellent one and you’re well respected by the police in your city. But that doesn’t negate the fact that you’re a civilian.”
“And God forbid a civilian should try to help the police find a killer.”
“Is that what you want to do? Help us? Or do you want enough information so you can, with luck—and that’s what it would be—find and deal with the man yourself?”
Teague gave a brief nod. “That thought had occurred to me. However, I’m not stupid. Finding him will take more than just me. The only advantage I have over the police is that I can skirt the letter of the law to find out what I need to. You can’t. That is, I can if you tell me the parts of the story I’m missing.”
“Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you.” With that said, Slater stood. “I have other things I need to take care of involving present cases.”
“Understood.” Teague took out a business card, circling his cell phone number. “You can get in touch with me here.”
- Writer
